


By Any Other Name

by everandanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22339780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everandanon/pseuds/everandanon
Summary: Dean's never shown the name on his wrist to anyone, insisting he wants nothing to do with his soulmate - but when Sam gets a glimpse and tracks down the man who is, Cas must accept, once and for all, that he and Dean simply aren't meant to be.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 94
Kudos: 972
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read, all mistakes are mine. Please do not repost. Thank you for reading!

“So, get this,” Sam says, and obligingly, Cas tucks a finger between the pages of his book and looks up. Beside him, Charlie sets down her phone.

Sam clears his throat.

“I found Dean’s soulmate.”

Cas’s stomach drops.

“You _what_?” Charlie gasps. “How? He never takes that stupid bracelet off! And believe me, I’ve _tried_ to get a peek.”

Numbly, Cas stares at his lap, at his battered _Zane Grey,_ at the tightly buttoned shirtcuff around his wrist.

“Except he _does_ take the bracelet off,” Sam points out, triumphant. “To shower.”

Charlie draws back slightly.

“You seriously ambushed him in the bath? That’s kinda rude.”

Sam snorts.

“Charlie. No, he needed a _towel._ Except he reached for it with his left, and _I_ got a glimpse.”

“And you think you found him?”

Sam nods. Cas’s hope for some sort of misunderstanding dies.

“One James Novak of Pontiac, Illinois. Or I guess, he’s James Collins, now.”

Despite the sick feeling in his stomach, the sadness in his chest, Cas can’t help a rush of anger, at that.

“He’s married?” Cas demands. “How could he be married?”

And perhaps Cas should consider that James may not have gotten his name yet — or might have gotten the wrong one, even — but all he can be is angry, because Dean’s _soulmate,_ the person who’s supposed to find him and love him for the rest of his life, chose someone else.

They never even gave Dean a _chance._

Cas wonders if _this_ is why Dean never went looking, always shut down when someone would ask.

“What? No! He was _adopted._ ”

“Oh.” Cas’s anger subsides, but only slightly. Why has this James Collins _not_ come looking, then? “How old is he?”

“Hm? Twenty-one. Same age as you and Dean. His birthday’s the day before yours, actually,” Sam says with a laugh.

No one’s quite sure how soulmates work, but that bit of information gives Cas pause. He wonders if it’s possible for the cosmic wires to get crossed, somehow, for the fates to get confused.

For them to get it just a little bit wrong.

It’s wishful thinking, probably.

Still . . .

“It’s unlikely he hasn’t gotten his mark yet,” Cas says, disgruntled. “Why hasn’t he come for Dean?”

Perhaps Cas is biased, having the privilege of already knowing Dean, but if _he_ were James Collins . . .

He likes to think he would have been able to sense it. Sense the importance of what was waiting for him.

He would have looked for Dean the moment he was allowed.

“I’m not sure,” Sam says, thoughtful. “But, you know . . . Dean got his mark years ago, and he didn’t, either. Not even when he was old enough to go looking.”

Which is true, but while Dean’s always refused to explain why, Cas suspects he knows.

Dean doesn’t think he deserves to be loved.

“Anyway, I thought . . . they say something magical happens, when you meet your soulmate. Dean’s . . . well, you know. But maybe if I can get James to come here and meet him . . .”

Cas’s stomach twists. It shouldn’t — Dean _does_ deserve to be loved, deserves to live happily ever after with the person he’s always been destined for — but it does.

Cas thought, once, that he could be that person.

But now that someone’s seen Dean’s mark — seen what it says, and more importantly, what it _doesn’t_ say — Cas knows he never will.

“That’s a good idea,” he makes himself say. “Have you been in contact with him?”

Sam shakes his head.

“No. I’m still 17, remember?”

“But he’s not _your_ soulmate.”

“Doesn’t matter. Underage soulmate-related communications are strictly forbidden.” Sam smiles, wry. “I guess they don’t want kids parent-trapping people.”

Cas nods, digesting this, and then realizes what Sam is asking.

“You want us to.”

Sam nods.

“I have an address.”

“No facebook?” Charlie asks, pouting.

“It’s private. I tried to friend request him, but nothing.” Sam sighs. “With our luck, he’s like Dean.”

She makes a face.

“Well, I hope not, or else they’re never gonna meet each other.”

Cas tries not to have an opinion about that.

_Dean deserves this,_ he reminds himself.

Sam laughs.

“Right? Anyway . . . it’s almost seven hours away. You guys up for a road trip?”

Cas really isn’t; certainly, not for this purpose.

He makes himself nod, anyway.

“Alright. When?”

They make plans for the long weekend, and then there’s the sound of keys in the lock, Dean pushing it open a moment later with his pizzas in hand, and nothing more about it is said.

Cas can’t stop thinking of it, anyway.

“It might not work out.”

Cas jumps, quickly turning away from the little balcony railing.

“I thought you went home.”

Charlie shrugs.

“I wanted to check in with you first.”

With a sigh, Cas turns back, looking out over the nearby streets and buildings.

“As I told Dean — all six times he asked — I’m fine.”

Charlie comes to stand beside him, leaning into his side a little.

“Sure. But — you seem like you could be more fine.”

“Can’t we all?” he mumbles, and she nods.

“Just . . . it might not work out, you know.”

He gives her a sharp look.

“What might not?”

“Dean. And his soulmate. Dean always insists he wants nothing to do with it, and while sure, meeting the guy could change his mind . . . it might not.”

“It’s his _soulmate_.”

“Okay, but — that doesn’t always mean anything.”

“Yes, it does.”

“People’s marks go away, you know.”

“Rarely.”

“But they do,” she presses, then leans forward a little, trying to catch his eye. “You know when it usually happens?”

Cas remains silent.

“It happens when they’ve been in a relationship with someone else, for a long time.” She pauses. “And then, a lot of times — they get a new name. The right one.”

He closes his eyes.

“I don’t think that’s going to happen, Charlie. If Dean decides he’s ready for a relationship, he’s going to want it with his soulmate.”

She nods slowly.

“Maybe. But – haven’t you ever wondered _why_ he’s so adamant about it? Like, Dean had a couple girlfriends, before he got his mark, but afterward . . . he won’t even look at anyone.”

“Dean’s very loyal. Even if he’s not ready for them, knowing they’re out there — he probably wanted to stay faithful.”

“Well, it definitely seems like he’s staying faithful to _someone,_ ” she agrees, and he frowns, unsure what she’s trying to say. “But maybe not his soulmate.”

“Who else would it be?”

She’s quiet for a moment.

“It could be you.”

Cas freezes, sucking in a breath.

And then he remembers himself, and lets it out.

“No, it couldn’t. It isn’t.”

“I’m just saying — Cas, you don’t even have a mark. That makes it even easier, means it’s just Dean who needs to lose his thread, and — and I think he might already be on his way. If you guys just _tried_ —“

Cas steps away, shaking his head, fists clenched at his sides.

Charlie is wrong, and she should know better than to taunt him with this.

“Dean doesn’t want that. And even if he did, I’m not — I can’t watch him change his mind. You’ve heard the stories, Charlie. People say it doesn’t matter, but a little time passes, and they always leave. They always go to their soulmate — just as they’re meant to.”

“Not _always,_ ” Charlie says, stubborn. “And maybe that’s _why_ you don’t have a mark! Maybe you snapped your thread before the mark even showed up. Maybe if you had a little more faith—“

“Well, I don’t. And I don’t want to talk about this.” Cas takes a deep breath, turning away from her altogether. “Thank you for checking in on me, Charlie. But it’s late, and you should go home.”

There’s a long silence behind him.

And then, with a sigh, Charlie starts forward.

He feels her arms settle around him, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“Just think about it, Cas,” she whispers. “And then — maybe ask him if he thinks about it, too.”

“He doesn’t.”

He feels her shake her head, and then she lets go of him, moving to the door.

“He might. More importantly . . . this might be your last chance to find out.”

With that, she goes back inside.

“Everything okay, man?”

Cas sighs.

“Yes, everything is _still_ okay, Dean.”

Dean settles onto the sofa beside, him, shoulder bumping his own. Cas leans into it, even though he knows he shouldn’t, because he also knows that if he does—

Dean’s arm immediately lifts, wrapping around his shoulders.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” he says quietly, and Cas turns into him a little more. Honestly, things like this are probably why Charlie thought she needed to have that talk with him.

They don’t mean anything, though. He and Dean have been friends since kindergarten, and this — this is just how they are.

“I just . . . I have some things on my mind.”

Dean shifts further, letting Cas slip partway onto his chest, warm through their t-shirts. Cas can feel the faint thrum of Dean’s heart, even, steady beats that leave Cas comforted and pained all at once.

“Wanna share with the class, buddy?”

Cas leans his head back against Dean’s shoulder, finally meeting his eyes.

Next week, after Dean meets his soulmate — they might not get to be like this, anymore. James might decide he does want Dean — how could he _not_? — and that he doesn’t like Dean just shy of cuddling with his best friend on the sofa.

Doesn’t like Dean staring back down at Cas, beautiful eyes warm, if a little worried, thumb starting to lightly stroke his shoulder.

Cas swallows.

“Do you ever wonder about your soulmate?” he asks, and Dean freezes. Cas thinks he can feel his heart skip a beat.

Green eyes drop, fixing on Cas’s left wrist, where the long sleeve of his pajama shirt bunches over it, partly covering his hand.

Dean’s expression tightens.

And then he reaches for it.

Cas quickly moves it to safety, folding his arm across his stomach.

“A-anyway,” he mumbles, tucking his hand between his side and his other arm. “I just . . . I know you don’t like to talk about it, but — don’t you want to meet them? Eventually?”

Dean’s still staring at his wrist, tension in the lines of his face.

After a moment, he looks back to Cas.

“No. I don’t.”

Cas swallows.

“Never?”

Dean gives a short shake of his head, mouth thin.

“Never.” A muscle in his jaw ticks. “What makes you ask?”

A lot of things.

Cas isn’t brave enough to admit them.

“Your bracelet,” he finally answers. “You can’t deny that’s a, um. An unusual stance.”

Dean studies him for another moment, and then he sighs.

“So? I know what I want, and that isn’t it.” He gives Cas a brief squeeze and then pulls away, reaching for the remote.

_What is it, then_? Cas wants to ask, but he takes too long to find his courage.

“Let’s watch some TV,” Dean says quietly.

“Alright.”

Dean queues up a documentary, and when he settles back, their shoulders press together once again.

“Kinda warm in here,” Dean remarks about twenty minutes later, eyeing Cas’s shirt. “Aren’t you hot?”

Cas instinctively tugs his sleeve down a little further, and Dean frowns.

“No,” he lies. “I’m a little cold, actually.”

“Huh.” Dean clears his throat, watching him. “You’re cold a lot. Maybe you should see a doctor.”

Cas thinks of the last three years, of Dean’s constant inquiries — _You’ve gotta be boiling, man. You wear too many layers, Cas, are you hiding cats in there or something? The AC’s broken, how can you stand to wear a shirt?_ — and not for the first time, he wonders if there’s something else behind them.

If Dean somehow knows.

Cas just shrugs.

“Maybe,” he says neutrally, and carefully looks at the TV until Dean sighs and follows suit.

Cas lies awake, once they’ve said goodnight and retreated to separate rooms. He locks the door, as always; Dean’s barged in on him, before, ostensibly to bring him coffee or ask if he can eat something in the fridge, and Cas got tired of waking up in a panic, scrambling to make sure his wrist was covered.

(Certainly, Dean found the locked door suspicious, but Cas just arched a brow and said ‘I like to masturbate in the mornings,’ and Dean went red and never mentioned it again.)

Now, though, with the door secure and the lamp shut off, Cas lets himself gingerly roll his sleeve up, baring the skin underneath.

Baring the swirling black letters, a neat line curving around his wrist and forming a name.

If Cas had been disappointed when Dean got his mark, only to promptly cover it up, he was devastated when, two years after the fact, he woke to neat, inky letters on his own wrist.

Cas hadn’t wanted a mark. Dean didn’t have his name, which meant that Cas wouldn’t get Dean’s, and since that was the only outcome Cas had hoped for, since the day someone explained to him what a soulmate was, Cas wanted nothing to do with it.

Perhaps _Dean_ was meant for someone else, but Cas knew, in his bones, that he was only ever meant for Dean.

He didn’t know what to make of it, when he got his mark after all, but he knew it was nothing good. All it did was complicate things, when Cas had just begun to accept them for what they were. All it did was remind him that Dean wasn’t for him, and no matter how Cas felt, Dean wouldn’t _want_ to be.

So he covered it up, and like any sane person pining for what could never be theirs—

He pretended the problem didn’t exist.

Still, lying in the dark, tracing the letters with his other finger, Cas can’t help himself.

He knows, beyond any doubt, that Dean _doesn’t_ have his name. He knows that after this weekend, Dean will be glad of it, will have what Cas suspects he’s always secretly wanted. He knows that, and he’s disappointed, is dreading having to watch someone else make Dean happy, when it’s all _Cas_ has ever wanted.

He presses his thumb down, covering the name, and even though he knows he should, he regrets nothing.

“What are you doing?”

Cas fumbles the t-shirt, whirling.

“Dean. I thought you were at work.”

“I traded shifts, since Andy’s got an exam this weekend.” Dean is frowning. “You look like you’re packing a bag.”

Cas swallows.

“Yes.”

Dean stares.

“Where are you going?”

“Uh.” Cas clears his throat. “Just, um. Just an overnight trip.”

“Okay. To where?”

“I have a . . . friend. In Illinois. That I thought I’d visit.”

For a moment, Dean says nothing.

And then his jaw tightens, and to Cas’s surprise, he’s stalking into the room, headed straight for Cas.

“Dean — what—“

Dean seizes his wrist, other hand reaching for the sleeve, and Cas panics.

He brings his foot up, then slams it down on Dean’s, causing Dean to falter, grunting in pain.

Cas jerks away.

“Don’t,” he snaps. “ _Don’t._ ”

Dean’s hunched over, grimacing, but he looks back up at that.

“Why not, Cas?” he grits out. “You got something to hide?”

“No more than you do,” Cas retorts, and the anger in Dean’s face seems to shutter.

Slowly, Dean straightens out, though he winces slightly as he does so.

“Cas,” he starts, troubled.

“It’s none of your business,” Cas insists, and Dean’s eyes widen a fraction. “Any more than _that-”_ He points to Dean’s wrist. “Is mine.”

Dean swallows.

“Right,” he says after a moment, nodding shortly. “Okay. Have fun on your trip.”

And then he turns around and stiffly hobbles out.

Cas finishes packing and hides in his room, and a few hours later, Dean comes to see him again. Cas tenses, but Dean simply nods at him, then comes to sit at the foot of the bed.

They’re quiet for a moment, and then Dean sighs.

“Sorry about — earlier. You were right, it, uh. It’s not my business.”

Cas nods.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you. But—"

Dean shakes his head.

“No, no, I — I deserved it. That and the, uh. The foot thing. I was way out of line. I just . . . wanted to know. But like you said — not my business.”

Cas nods, at a loss, and Dean continues.

“Just . . . I’m not . . . this isn’t me trying to tell you what to do, okay? This is just — me, asking.”

Cas stares, searching his face, though Dean’s not looking at him.

“Asking what?” It’s difficult to deny Dean — not when Dean so rarely denies him — but if Dean wants to see his wrist, Cas is going to have to.

In two days’ time, Cas is going to meet Dean’s soulmate. The time for confessions like this, for telling Dean that Cas went ahead and chose him, anyway, even though it really wasn’t meant to be —

That time is past.

“Please don’t go.”

Cas blinks.

“What?”

At last, Dean looks up, eyes pleading.

“I know — I’m not saying never. I know you probably don’t have a good reason not to — hell, you’ve probably been waiting for this — but don’t go, just yet. Please.”

Cas doesn’t understand.

“I’ll only be gone for a night, Dean.”

Dean looks frustrated.

“I know, but — it’s not about how long you’ll be gone, Cas, it’s about—“ He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “Look, I know this shit’s important to most people, and I know nobody understands why I don’t give a fuck about the name on my wrist, and I don’t expect you to be on the same page, okay? I just — could you please just _think_ about it? Just for a little while?”

Still baffled, Cas frowns.

“You really don’t care?” he can’t help but ask, gesturing to Dean’s wrist. “You — you’re never curious? Not even a little?”

Dean shakes his head, something a little desperate in his gaze.

“Not even a little, Cas. There’s no point.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You don’t. You could — you could love him. He could love you.”

Dean’s mouth goes tight.

“Well, I don’t _want_ a stranger to love me. I want someone I already love.”

Cas stares.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means—“ Dean starts, impatient — and then he freezes. “’He?’”

“What?”

“You said ‘he.’” Dean blinks, brow furrowing. “I’ve never told anyone what kind of name I got.”

Cas swallows, mentally kicking himself.

“Sorry. ‘She,’ then,” he tries, but Dean narrows his eyes.

“You know it’s a guy.” He nods to himself. “Of course you do. How long? How long have you known, Cas?”

And because Cas has neither the energy nor the inclination to lie, he doesn’t.

“A few days. Sam saw it.” And since this is probably what Dean will ask next — “James is in Illinois. That’s where we’re going.”

Dean recoils.

“You — you were —“ He stops, throat bobbing. If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d say Dean looked betrayed. “You’re going to look for _my_ soulmate?”

Cas offers a helpless nod.

“I know you say that’s not what you want—“

“Because it’s _not_!” Dean snaps. “Jesus Christ, Cas — how _could_ you? When I — I’ve told you a million times — I don’t want that!”

“You haven’t even _met_ him, Dean! You can’t possibly know that!”

“Are you even _listening_? I _can_! I _do_! I fucking _told_ you — _I already know what I want_!”

Cas looks away, a bitter ache in his chest.

“If you met him, you’d change your mind.”

“Like hell. There’s not a damn thing in the world that could make me change my mind, I promise you that. And it’s stupid, because you don’t — you clearly don’t —“ The words start coming out choked, and Dean stops, taking a breath. “The point is, it doesn’t matter. Go find my soulmate, if you want. Hell, go find _your_ soulmate. It won’t change a goddamn thing.”

Dean shoves off the bed and walks out, and a moment later, Cas hears his door slam.

Ten minutes later, Cas starts unpacking his bag.

It’s stupid. _Dean_ is being stupid. When Sam and Charlie find James, when they tell him he has nothing to be afraid of, that whatever he’s imagined, whatever doubts he has, Dean is worth it — Dean will change his mind.

Cas, for his part, will keep his sleeves rolled down, will pretend swimming always gives him an earache and he’s too old for that nonsense, and he’ll try to remember that the most important thing, above all else, is that Dean is happy.

And it _is._

But Cas doesn’t understand why he needs to be a part of making it happen, so he puts his things back in the drawer, throws the backpack in the closet, and then he goes to sleep.

Sam calls in the morning.

“So, um. Dean found out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, no, it’s not your fault. I mean, you guys live together. I should have thought of that.”

“Perhaps.”

“Anyway . . . he . . . well, the point is, we’re not going to Illinois.” Sam clears his throat. “I shouldn’t — I shouldn’t have interfered, in the first place. Dean has his reasons.”

Cas tries not to be relieved.

It’s wrong, to pass up this opportunity. He doesn’t know what it is Dean’s waiting for, why he would be so stubborn.

“Maybe another time,” Cas offers, and there’s a long silence.

“I’m not sure.” Another pause. “I don’t . . . you know, no one really understands the soulmate stuff, not completely. Maybe there’s more to it than we think. Or — maybe there’s less.”

Cas frowns.

“What are you saying?”

“Well, not every soul-matched couple works out, right? And more and more, people are trying it the other way, and sometimes it even turns into that, and even if it doesn’t, a lot of them are happy . . .”

“But a lot of them aren’t,” Cas protests. “A lot of them leave for their soulmates, in the end.”

“But a lot of them don’t,” Sam replies quickly. “Maybe it’s not about soulmates. Maybe it’s about — people. Maybe — maybe sometimes they’re right, and sometimes they’re wrong.”

Cas closes his eyes.

“He should still try,” he whispers. “Dean — he isn’t made to be alone, Sam. He needs someone. But he won’t even look. Don’t you see? Whatever he says, the thing that’s stopping him — it’s his soulmate. I — even if it’s not now, eventually, this is something he needs to do.”

Sam’s quiet for so long Cas starts to wonder if the line disconnected.

“You’re right,” he says slowly. “He’s not made to be alone — he _does_ need someone. I just don’t think that someone necessarily has to be his soulmate.”

Cas shakes his head, though Sam can’t see him.

“He won’t let anyone else in, Sam.”

“Well — exactly. Not anyone new. Why would James be any different?”

Cas hesitates.

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe he already let the right person in. Have you ever considered that?”

No. No, he hasn’t.

Why would he?

He takes too long to answer.

“Just — think about it,” Sam says gently. “I need to help Mom with something, though. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Cas swallows, nodding, and then remembers to speak.

“Okay.”

He ends the call.

And then he thinks about it.

Dean briefly glances up when Cas enters the living area, but then he looks away, jaw set.

Cas gets himself a glass of water, blankly watching the TV from the kitchen and trying to figure out what to say.

In the end, he settles on the far side of the sofa and after another minute of silence, goes with a simple “I’m sorry.”

After a beat, Dean glances sideways.

“For what?” he asks, and Cas can’t even begin to understand his tone. It sounds less like he’s trying to feign ignorance of the problem and more like he thinks there’s a right answer.

“For going behind your back with Sam and Charlie. For ignoring your wishes.”

Dean’s shoulders slump a little.

He sighs.

“Right. Well, don’t worry about it. Your intentions were good, or whatever they say. Just don’t do it again.”

Cas nods.

“I just — Dean, I just wanted you to be happy.”

Dean absorbs that for a moment, and then he ducks his chin, pinching the bridge of his nose.

When his head lifts again, he reaches for the remote, shutting the TV off. Then he shifts, folding his leg up onto the sofa as he turns to face Cas.

“I get that,” he says softly, eyes serious and — strangely sad. “And I appreciate it. But trust me when I say that’s not what will make me happy.”

“Alright.” Cas swallows, searching. “Alright, but — what, then? You’re really — you can’t possibly want to be alone.”

Dean’s eyes close.

“No,” he agrees. “I don’t.”

They open again, and he looks resigned.

“But I’m not going to settle. Not for James or anybody else.”

Cas looks back at him, helpless.

“What do you want, then? What are you waiting for, Dean?”

Dean looks down, shaking his head.

“It’s not important. The point is, I’ve got family. I’ve got friends. I’m not really alone, Cas. I’m good. Okay?” He glances back up, catching Cas’s eye. “So don’t worry about me.”

Cas nods.

He doesn’t like that answer — of course he’ll worry about Dean — but it is, in the end, Dean’s choice.

“Okay.”

Dean lets out a breath, nodding.

“Okay. Good.”

He reaches for the remote.

Instinctively, Cas catches his hand, fingers brushing over the worn leather cuff.

“I’ll be here,” he says, unable to help himself. Dean looks back at him, startled. “You — you’re right. You won’t be alone. I’ll always be here.”

He hears Dean inhale, swears he can almost feel his pulse racing, a faint rhythm beneath the cuff.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, green eyes intent. Cas nods.

“Yeah,” he repeats firmly. “Always.”

Dean’s eyes flick to Cas’s wrist, inches from his own, but then he glances back and nods.

“Sounds good to me,” he says, barely more than a whisper, and when Cas reluctantly lets go, Dean picks up the remote.

And then he scoots across the sofa, settling in at Cas’s side, and turns the TV back on.

When his arm tentatively drapes across the sofa back, Cas leans in.

It’s selfish, but he hopes Dean never finds what he’s looking for.

The weekend passes strangely.

It’s not bad; Cas doesn’t think Dean is angry, anymore, and if he’s tense, nothing about it really sets off any alarms, for Cas.

But he’s not quite normal, either. The way he looks at Cas, like he’s stealing glances, like he’s trying to figure something out, isn’t normal; and while Dean often looks at him, probably almost as much as Cas looks at Dean (and certainly way beyond what most friendships call for), this is different.

Cas doesn’t really get it, but he looks back — of course he does — and neither of them talk about it.

Dean hovers, though. They’ve been friends for a long time, lived together for three years now, and no one can deny that they’re close. There’s no well-defined personal space, with them, hasn’t been for years, and Cas doesn’t want there to be.

But the way Dean lingers at his side, leans over him, leans into him, trails after him in the apartment — it, too, is different.

Cas doesn’t know what to make of it.

Not until Sunday night, when he’s brewing a cup of tea, Dean watching him from the table while Cas pretends not to notice, and abruptly, Dean stands.

Cas forces himself to stay relaxed, eyes on his mug, like he’s not always hyperaware of what Dean’s doing.

He hears footsteps behind him, hears them slow, feels the warmth at his back as Dean comes to a stop.

He waits.

“Cas,” Dean says softly, and Cas takes a breath, turning his head slightly, though he still can’t see him.

He can feel him, though, thinks he can just barely feel Dean’s breath, warm against his neck.

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

There’s a pause.

“Do you have a soul mark?”

Perhaps Cas should have expected that.

He didn’t.

“I don’t care if you do,” Dean continues, when Cas doesn’t answer. “I mean — I do, but I don’t.”

“I don’t understand,” Cas manages, and he doesn’t.

Dean takes a deep breath, and then he shuffles closer, and then his arms wrap around Cas, chin coming to rest upon his shoulder.

Dean’s hair brushes Cas’s cheek.

They’re close — they’re always close — but this, like all the other things, is different.

“You said you’ll be here. Always.” Dean hesitates, and Cas stays as still as he can, heart pounding in his chest. “What did you mean by that, Cas?”

“I — what I said. I meant what I said.”

Dean is quiet, and Cas swallows, steeling himself.

“I meant — I don’t care about my soul mark, either,” he whispers. “Not if you don’t.”

Dean goes perfectly still.

And then he steps back, and Cas barely has time to worry, because Dean’s hand settles on his shoulder, gently turning him, and then he crowds in close and presses Cas back against the counter.

“Then I don’t,” he says simply.

And he takes Cas’s face in two rough, shaking hands, and kisses him.

Cas wakes to a knocking on the door, his warm, fantastic-smelling pillow shifting underneath him.

He clutches it tighter. He doesn’t want to wake up. His pillow smells like Dean, for some reason, and it feels wonderful pressed against his skin.

The knocking doesn’t quit, though, and his pillow makes a more insistent attempt at escape.

“Cas,” it says urgently, _sounding_ a lot like Dean, as well. “I’m gonna see what’s up, okay? I swear I’ll be right back.”

Cas frowns, rubbing his cheek against the smooth, bare skin of his pillow as he tries to work through this. There’s a huff of laughter, and then a hand, heavy in his hair, fingers curling into the mess.

His eyes fly open, body tensing.

“Cas,” Dean says, squinting down at him. “They’re clearly not leaving till they get an answer. Besides, it could be an emergency.”

Quickly, Cas lets go of him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, struggling to sit up, to process what’s happening. Dean smiles almost _shyly_ at him as he slides out of bed, and as the blanket slips away, it becomes very apparent that he doesn’t have a stitch of clothing on him.

It also becomes apparent that the sight is not unfamiliar to Cas.

Cas swallows, consciousness returning in force and with it, the memories of last night.

_Then I don’t,_ Dean had said. And then he’d kissed him, like he meant it, and when Cas had kissed him back (because there was no question of doing otherwise, no question of Dean reaching out and Cas failing to reach back), Dean had wrapped his arms around him and kissed him harder.

And then Cas had started crying, and Dean had started crying, too, and somehow they’d ended up in the bed, tangled together and holding tight.

Cas isn’t sure how long they’d stayed that way. At the time, he’d struggled to believe it was happening at all.

He’d struggled so much that he got anxious, got desperate for reassurance that it _was_ real, that Dean _did_ want him, soul marks be damned, and he’d started kissing him again.

Dean didn’t hesitate to return it, so Cas didn’t hesitate either.

“ _Right_ back,” Dean insists, now, licking his lips as the knocking persists. Cas takes him in, completely bare but for the bracelet on his wrist.

Cas is still wearing his white, long-sleeved t-shirt.

“Okay,” Cas finally manages, then adds, “Right back.”

Dean smiles, and then he’s hastily pulling on boxers and jeans and hurrying to the door.

“Coming!” he calls, and a few moments later, Cas hears the door open.

He curls up beneath the blanket and listens.

“ _Finally_!” a woman snaps, and Cas hears a rustle, hears heels clicking against the foyer. “Where is Castiel Milton?”

He doesn’t recognize the voice, but the ensuing silence is so long, Cas starts to worry. He sits up, pushing the blanket back.

“Hello?” she demands, impatient, and finally, Dean answers.

“He’s not here.” It comes out hoarse, and alarmed, Cas slips out of bed, searching for a pair of boxers.

“Okay? When is he going to be back? Because I kind of need to talk to him about _this._ ”

Again, Dean is quiet. Cas gives up on the boxers and struggles into the sweatpants before dashing out of the bedroom. Something is wrong, and Cas isn’t going to leave Dean to deal with it alone.

He finds a blonde woman in the entry, brandishing her wrist at Dean, who is carefully avoiding looking at it.

“What’s going on?” Cas asks, and her angry gaze flies to his, mouth opening.

Nothing comes out.

In front of her, Dean goes rigid.

“Cas, go back to bed.”

“Cas?” she echoes, eyes wide. After a beat, her arm falls to her side. “You’re . . . Castiel Milton?”

Dean buries his face in one hand, and slowly, steps aside.

Cas hastens over, resting a hand on his shoulder, but Dean doesn’t look up.

“I am. What do you want?”

She stares for another moment, and Cas is about to tell her to just get out when she lifts her arm again.

_Castiel Novak,_ her wrist says.

He blinks, speechless.

“I don’t understand,” she says, eyes roaming his face. “How . . .”

He swallows, squeezing Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry. This is . . . unfortunate. But you wasted a trip.”

Dean’s head flies up, but Cas keeps looking at the blonde, trying to convey his seriousness.

She seems to shake herself.

“I want to see yours.”

Cas flicks an uneasy glance to Dean, who’s watching him, eyes suspiciously red and shiny, but — hopeful.

Cas is not going to let him down.

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath and, holding his arm out to her, he pulls back his sleeve.

Her mouth falls open.

Next to him, Dean’s does the same.

“As you can see,” he says, as calmly as he can manage. “I can’t do anything for you. So please leave.”

The blonde gapes for another moment.

“You—“ Dean starts, but she steps forward, seizing his arm, a wild light in her eye as she inspects it more closely.

Cas waits. He understands; soul marks are important to people, and she’s probably very disappointed right now.

But then a _grin_ slowly spreads across her face, and he furrows his brow, confused.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she murmurs, and looks up, beaming at him, eyes bright. “Can I take a picture of you to send to my fiance?”

Half an hour later, Amelia leaves, and for the first time in Cas’s life, he’s spoken to his twin.

If Amelia hadn’t shown him pictures, he wouldn’t have believed it.

“I’m sorry about disturbing you guys,” she says when she leaves, sheepish. “I just — it showed up, and it wasn’t his name, and he tried to break up with me! Can you believe that? He had _mine._ It should have been good enough.” She shakes her head. “Anyway . . . thank you so much, Castiel. For everything.”

“Of course,” he says, still a little shocked. “I wish you both the best. I look forward to meeting Jimmy in person.”

She nods vigorously.

“Soon, hopefully, but — you’re invited to the wedding, of course. Both of you,” she adds, with a smile at Dean.

Cas chances a worried glance over; Dean hasn’t said a word this entire time.

“We’ll be there,” he assures her, and a minute later, she’s gone.

Cas carefully locks up behind her, and with a deep breath, he turns back around.

Dean is standing there, just — staring at him.

“Dean?”

Dean swallows.

“Yeah. Sorry, I just—“ He hesitates. “Can I see it again?”

Cas nods, slowly approaching, arm held out. Dean licks his lips, then takes Cas’s hand and gently rolls up the sleeve.

“Jesus,” he whispers. “When did you get it?”

“Just before I turned eighteen,” Cas admits.

Dean’s eyes widen a little, though they’re still fixed on the mark.

“You’ve had it that long?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Cas shrugs slightly, and Dean’s grip on his hand tightens.

“I didn’t think it mattered. You either _didn’t_ have my name or, more likely, you did and you just . . . didn’t want it. But then I overheard Sam trying to talk you into looking, once, and you — you told him to drop it.” Cas shakes his head. “That you hoped the guy had a nice life, but you didn’t want to be a part of it.”

“I didn’t,” Dean says softly, finally looking at him, and Cas nods.

“But you were the same as you always were, with me, so I knew . . . it must be someone else.”

Dean’s face falls.

“The name, maybe, but — it was always you, Cas.” He squeezes Cas’s hand, and then he tugs, pulling Cas into him. Cas goes easily, shaking free of Dean’s hand so he can slip his arms around him.

Dean holds him tight.

“I was up all night crying, when I got my name,” he whispers, right in Cas’s ear. “I covered it up so other people wouldn’t see it, but mostly — I couldn’t stand looking at it. It wasn’t what I was expecting and it wasn’t what I wanted, and even if _I_ could decide it didn’t matter . . . you’d get a mark, someday. And it wouldn’t be me. I fucking hated James Novak, I’ll tell you that much.”

Cas’s eyes sting.

“I cried, too. I didn’t want a mark at all, once I thought you didn’t have mine. But then I got your name, and I saw that I was right, that you _were_ it for me, except I wasn’t — the reverse wasn’t true, and I just . . .”

Dean pulls back, kissing him.

“It was, Cas,” he murmurs. “Even if there was no Amelia, and no random jackass wandering around with your face — it was you. It’d always be you.”

Cas’s breath hitches.

“I love you,” he blurts out. “I’ve always loved you.”

Dean stills.

“Yeah?”

“More than anything.”

Dean swallows.

“When you — the other night, I thought you were going to go meet _your_ soulmate. I panicked. It was all I could do not to — to beg you to just _stay_. And then when you said you were going to find _mine,_ I — I thought that meant you didn’t. You didn’t love me, not if you were okay with that.”

Cas shakes his head, tucking his face against Dean's neck.

“I just wanted you to be happy,” he whispers, clutching tightly, and Dean nods against him.

“I know. I know, Cas. My heart went through the floor, when she showed me her mark. I thought she was gonna take you away.”

“I would _never,_ ” Cas insists. “Even if I had her name, I _couldn’t._ I chose you, long before either one of us got a mark. Nothing — _nothing_ could change that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.” Dean turns a little, kissing Cas’s cheek. “I’m sorry I told you to go back to bed. I want you to be happy, too, Cas, but — I’m more selfish. I want it to be with me.”

Cas is crying into Dean’s shoulder now, but Dean is letting him, and he cares not a bit.

“I want you to be selfish. If anyone else shows up for me, tell them I don’t live here. I don’t care about them. I just — I just care about you.”

Dean shifts, pulling away to look at him, and when Cas raises his head, he can see the tears on Dean’s cheeks, too.

“Cas,” he says seriously, and Cas nods, waiting. “I — for the record, I — I love you, too. More than anything.”

Cas kisses him again.

And once he's kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him some more, he takes his hand and leads him back to bed, reverently undoing the leather tie of his bracelet and kissing the pale strip of skin underneath.

“Switched at birth, huh?” Dean whispers, stroking Cas’s hair as he mouths along the letters. “Should I call you James, now?”

“Absolutely not,” Cas tells him, and then he sits back, reaches for the hem of his own shirt, and pulls it off.

Dean’s quiet after that. He keeps one hand on Cas’s wrist, palm firm against his own name, holding on to the proof, and only when his breaths are coming fast and his grip is so tight Cas thinks it might leave bruises does he finally speak.

He does not, fortunately, call Cas ‘James.’

\- end -


End file.
